BagsNPockets
Feb. 3rd, 2006 03:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
joegodaOk.. so the story wouldn't wait.. but please, do enjoy the link in my previous post.
Harv led Bags to a small practice yard in the back of the mansion. It was a small fenced in area, about twenty feet by twenty feet square. There were racks where practice swords, maces and other hack and slash things were kept. Old armor was place near the fence, to be used in the place of the real thing, as old armor doesn't care as much if it gets dented. The ground was raked soft sand, so that any fall would not leave as painful a bruise as hard sand would.
Harv picked up one of the wasters and tossed it to Bags, who caught it with ease.
"You ever play with these, old man?" asked Harv with a smile.
"Nope. Never did. Most of the guys I played with were more intent on removing one of my body parts." Bags answered.
Harv swung his round a bit, getting the feel, getting the balance. "Well, let's see if you can keep up." And he stepped toward Bags, swinging his weapon from low to high.
"Easy block, junior." Bags replied, bringing his own blade from low to high, twisting just enough so that Harv's attack passed cleanly away from him, but then Bags carried through, full circle to slap against Harv side. "You gotta carry it all the way full circle. You get to use the momentum from your opponent that way."
That's the way the session went. Harv would attack, using youthful vigor as if it were a tool, and Bags would sidestep, block, redirect every single time, usually landing a reply blow somewhere that would leave a reminding sting on Harv's legs, arms, and once a gentle tap on the head. "That's so you don't forget me when you're dead." Bags said.
Twice during the session Harv found himself flat on his back, having done what he thought was a sidestep, only to be tripped up by Bags' blade or his own feet trying to avoid another sting. "It's a dance, junior. You gotta watch the steps of your partner and let your feet do what they know to do."
"I'm trying, dammit."
"Chum, there ain't no such thing as try. In this game, it's either do, or be done." Bags said, right before slapping a hard backhand on Harv's back side. "The whole thing is like this: if someone draws a weapon on you, be it sword, mace, or tree limb, they aims to do you damage. It's likely they will, but you just make sure they have more damage than you have. Remember, if both of you die, nobody wins, so make sure you're the one left standing."
Bags did a quick twirl to avoid a savage jab from Harv, brought his own blade around with a solid whack on Harv's back, driving the boy to his knees. "And now you see who's standing, and who's dead." Bags quickly reversed his blade in his hand and it was now under Harv's chin. "And that's how it's done, junior."
Harv was panting from the workout. Bags was breaking a sweat, but breathing slow and normal.
Harv looked up at Bags and said "So... have you had enough?"
"Sure. It was a good start. You got some nice moves, for a beginner. I think that you just haven't had anyone try to kill you. There's some good lessons in that, you know, when someone is trying to kill you." Bags put out a hand to help the boy up.
Harv accepted the hand and got to his feet. "I'll say this for you. Pop was right when he sent me to find you. How long have you been doing this?"
"What this? Staying alive? All my life, Harv, all my life. Been in fights and tussles since I can remember, and probably before that. Never had anyone teach me how, just had to do what I had to do."
"Nobody to teach you? You have moves that I've never seen before, and damn fast. How many men have you had to kill?"
"I dunno. Never really stopped to think about it. Reckon I had to kill all that I had to, and let live some that I didn't. There are folks out there that want to live as badly as I do, and those are the ones that I usually end up shaking the hand of and walk away from."
"Hmm. I'll have to think about that one." Harv walked to one of the benches set against the wall. "You have any enemies? Someone out there that wants to kill you?"
Bags joined him, and brushed his unruly reddish mop away from his face. "Not that I know of. I don't think I have an enemy in the world."
"What about the men that you killed?"
"Well," said Bags thoughtfully, "If they're dead, they aren't rightly my enemies, are they. They're just dead."
"But before they were dead? Didn't you want to kill them" Harv asked earnestly.
"Harv, you sure seem intent on the subject of enemies and killing folks. Look." Bags took a breath. "In a right and true world, nobody wants to kill anybody. But the world ain't right and true all the time. There are folks that want what you have, and there are folks that want what they think you have, and there are folks that just imagine you have anything at all and they want it. Doesn't make them your enemy, anymore than one dog trying to drink out of another's bowl becomes the enemy of the other dog. It just makes them sad and angry folk that believe they ain't got what you do."
"So.. why..."
"Why did I have to kill them? Cuz they were trying to kill me, plain and simple. I have never started a fight in my life, but if I'm in one, I'll sure as hell be the one to finish it, and I plan to be the one left standing. Let me ask you one. What do you think you'd die for?"
Harv looked a bit confused. "What do you mean?"
"Well," Bags pondered. "Would you die for your father?"
"You mean if he was in danger?" Harv asked.
"No. I mean, would you trade your life for him? Would you put your life in danger to keep him from harm. Would you die for him?"
"Sure. I love him.. I mean, he's my father."
Bags stood up and stretched the kink out of his back. "Easy answer. But search your heart for a while. Ask your self that and make sure you know the answer. Would you die for your land?"
"Die for my... sure I would, if someone was trying to take it away."
"Why?" Bags asked.
"Because it's my land." Harv continued to wear the confused look.
"But Harv, it's only land. You can find land anywhere. Here, it's a desert, not worth much more than sand and wind and spit. What is there about the land that you'd die for?"
"Bags, this is my land, and not only my land, but my father's land. It's the land that my mother is buried under. It's the land that has existed in my family for generations. It's the memories that it contains."
"Stupid boy, the land doesn't contain memories. Your head does. You can carry the memories with you no matter where you go. Try again. Would you die for your land?"
Harv thought while Bags crossed over to a cistern and drew some water using a ladle nearby. After drinking his fill, he brought the full ladle back to the boy.
"See, Harv, if you're going to be killing someone, remember why you're doing it. I've lived this long by NOT wanting to kill someone. I don't have much that I'd kill for. I'd kill for three things. Me, cuz I don't want to die, and if someone is trying to make me die, I'll do my best to make them die first. For Griz, cuz I love her and she's my whole life. Without her, no memory I have will be worth the brain I carry it in. And then there's Pockets, who is such a pack of trouble sometimes I wonder if he's worth it. But then again, I know he is, he's just kinda hard to take sometimes. He's like... he's like the kid brother I never had." Harv gave a questioning look. "Pockets is the guy that invented the fridge ration... the ice making thing." Harv nodded in final understanding.
"That's the only thing worth killing for. Love, and the connection that goes with it. The very same thing it's worth dying for. So while you have your head all wrapped around killing, wrap your head around what it is that's really worth dying for. Everything else is replaceable. Everything."
"But," Harv protested, "what about protecting your things? Keeping someone else from taking what you've worked for?"
"Ah! That's a different thing, though." explained Bags. "Protecting something is not the same as being ready to die for it. In protecting something, you have to know when to lay down your toys and walk away, because as hard as you protect something, sometimes it's more intelligent to just leave it be, go on with you life, and live it. Find something else to protect. Things are sometimes worth protecting, but rarely are things worth dying for. Knowing the difference is what's kept me, Griz and Pockets alive"
"I think I understand." said Harv. "Things are just that. Things. Things can be replaced. That I understand. But how bout this. What if you want your things back after you've walked away?"
"What would you do?" asked Bags. "Once again, are you willing to die to get them back? That's the real question, sonny. What you're willing to die for, because no matter how good you think you are, there is always going to be someone just a bit faster, a bit stronger, a bit better, who is more willing to die than you are."
Harv looked downtrodden, as if one of his fantasies had just been shattered. Perhaps it had. Bags saw the look on the boy's face and sat next to him. He clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"You're still young, Harv, and I'm here to tell you that there will probably be more than one opportunity for you to find out what's worth living for, and what's worth dying for. You've got some good moves on you, yourself, and some of them remind me of me when I was your age. Hell, when I was your age, I was getting tossed out of some pub or cathouse at least once a week. That's where I learned my lesson. That's where I spect you'll learn yours, cuz I seriously doubt you'll pay much attention to anything an old fart like me will tell you."
Harv blushed deeply. "Cathouses? You mean brothels? Well.. we have one here, but it's not very.... um... good."
Bags raised one of his bushy eyebrows and said, "Not very good? How in the seven hells can a cathouse not be very good.. or even just merely good. At the very least the worst I've ever been in has been tolerable, but I'd never rate one as not being very good. This I gotta see."
It was Harv's turn to raise an eyebrow, and Bags' turn to blush.
"Oh, I'd be going there with Grizelda." Harv's other eyebrow went up.
"Now get that out of your head. We wouldn't be going for that, youngster. It's just that when it comes to cathouses, Griz knows her stuff. That's where we met, in a cathouse in a town a long ways from here. I was getting tossed out of it, and she... well.. don't you be telling her I told you this, but she was one of the girls. I didn't know she was sweet on me, what with me being as ugly as I am, but when I got tossed out, I was pretty beat up. She picked me out of the gutter, cleaned me up, got me healthy again. I owe her my life in ways I could never repay. Pockets, too, I reckon.
"Tell me about Pockets." Harv asked.
Bags leaned back against the wall. "Pockets is... well, he's kinda hard to describe. He and me have been together since kids. Raised in the same orphanage, y'see. Friends since then, me protecting him, and him figuring ways out of one scrape or another. He's not a fighter, he's a thinker."
Bags smiled in remembrance of days long gone. "Yeah. He's got a mind on him, always thinking of some strange thought or another. Where he comes up with some of his ideas I'll never know. He's got his own sense of reality, that's for sure. But I'll tell you this, there's not another man on the planet that I'd trust more at my back." Bags expression turned cloudy.
"What's wrong?" asked Harv.
"Funny thing. I was thinking bout Pockets, and I just got the chills. Somewhere in the back of my head I coulda swore I heard him say 'Run Away'." He looked at Harv with a sharp gaze. "I think he may be in trouble. Again."
Harv led Bags to a small practice yard in the back of the mansion. It was a small fenced in area, about twenty feet by twenty feet square. There were racks where practice swords, maces and other hack and slash things were kept. Old armor was place near the fence, to be used in the place of the real thing, as old armor doesn't care as much if it gets dented. The ground was raked soft sand, so that any fall would not leave as painful a bruise as hard sand would.
Harv picked up one of the wasters and tossed it to Bags, who caught it with ease.
"You ever play with these, old man?" asked Harv with a smile.
"Nope. Never did. Most of the guys I played with were more intent on removing one of my body parts." Bags answered.
Harv swung his round a bit, getting the feel, getting the balance. "Well, let's see if you can keep up." And he stepped toward Bags, swinging his weapon from low to high.
"Easy block, junior." Bags replied, bringing his own blade from low to high, twisting just enough so that Harv's attack passed cleanly away from him, but then Bags carried through, full circle to slap against Harv side. "You gotta carry it all the way full circle. You get to use the momentum from your opponent that way."
That's the way the session went. Harv would attack, using youthful vigor as if it were a tool, and Bags would sidestep, block, redirect every single time, usually landing a reply blow somewhere that would leave a reminding sting on Harv's legs, arms, and once a gentle tap on the head. "That's so you don't forget me when you're dead." Bags said.
Twice during the session Harv found himself flat on his back, having done what he thought was a sidestep, only to be tripped up by Bags' blade or his own feet trying to avoid another sting. "It's a dance, junior. You gotta watch the steps of your partner and let your feet do what they know to do."
"I'm trying, dammit."
"Chum, there ain't no such thing as try. In this game, it's either do, or be done." Bags said, right before slapping a hard backhand on Harv's back side. "The whole thing is like this: if someone draws a weapon on you, be it sword, mace, or tree limb, they aims to do you damage. It's likely they will, but you just make sure they have more damage than you have. Remember, if both of you die, nobody wins, so make sure you're the one left standing."
Bags did a quick twirl to avoid a savage jab from Harv, brought his own blade around with a solid whack on Harv's back, driving the boy to his knees. "And now you see who's standing, and who's dead." Bags quickly reversed his blade in his hand and it was now under Harv's chin. "And that's how it's done, junior."
Harv was panting from the workout. Bags was breaking a sweat, but breathing slow and normal.
Harv looked up at Bags and said "So... have you had enough?"
"Sure. It was a good start. You got some nice moves, for a beginner. I think that you just haven't had anyone try to kill you. There's some good lessons in that, you know, when someone is trying to kill you." Bags put out a hand to help the boy up.
Harv accepted the hand and got to his feet. "I'll say this for you. Pop was right when he sent me to find you. How long have you been doing this?"
"What this? Staying alive? All my life, Harv, all my life. Been in fights and tussles since I can remember, and probably before that. Never had anyone teach me how, just had to do what I had to do."
"Nobody to teach you? You have moves that I've never seen before, and damn fast. How many men have you had to kill?"
"I dunno. Never really stopped to think about it. Reckon I had to kill all that I had to, and let live some that I didn't. There are folks out there that want to live as badly as I do, and those are the ones that I usually end up shaking the hand of and walk away from."
"Hmm. I'll have to think about that one." Harv walked to one of the benches set against the wall. "You have any enemies? Someone out there that wants to kill you?"
Bags joined him, and brushed his unruly reddish mop away from his face. "Not that I know of. I don't think I have an enemy in the world."
"What about the men that you killed?"
"Well," said Bags thoughtfully, "If they're dead, they aren't rightly my enemies, are they. They're just dead."
"But before they were dead? Didn't you want to kill them" Harv asked earnestly.
"Harv, you sure seem intent on the subject of enemies and killing folks. Look." Bags took a breath. "In a right and true world, nobody wants to kill anybody. But the world ain't right and true all the time. There are folks that want what you have, and there are folks that want what they think you have, and there are folks that just imagine you have anything at all and they want it. Doesn't make them your enemy, anymore than one dog trying to drink out of another's bowl becomes the enemy of the other dog. It just makes them sad and angry folk that believe they ain't got what you do."
"So.. why..."
"Why did I have to kill them? Cuz they were trying to kill me, plain and simple. I have never started a fight in my life, but if I'm in one, I'll sure as hell be the one to finish it, and I plan to be the one left standing. Let me ask you one. What do you think you'd die for?"
Harv looked a bit confused. "What do you mean?"
"Well," Bags pondered. "Would you die for your father?"
"You mean if he was in danger?" Harv asked.
"No. I mean, would you trade your life for him? Would you put your life in danger to keep him from harm. Would you die for him?"
"Sure. I love him.. I mean, he's my father."
Bags stood up and stretched the kink out of his back. "Easy answer. But search your heart for a while. Ask your self that and make sure you know the answer. Would you die for your land?"
"Die for my... sure I would, if someone was trying to take it away."
"Why?" Bags asked.
"Because it's my land." Harv continued to wear the confused look.
"But Harv, it's only land. You can find land anywhere. Here, it's a desert, not worth much more than sand and wind and spit. What is there about the land that you'd die for?"
"Bags, this is my land, and not only my land, but my father's land. It's the land that my mother is buried under. It's the land that has existed in my family for generations. It's the memories that it contains."
"Stupid boy, the land doesn't contain memories. Your head does. You can carry the memories with you no matter where you go. Try again. Would you die for your land?"
Harv thought while Bags crossed over to a cistern and drew some water using a ladle nearby. After drinking his fill, he brought the full ladle back to the boy.
"See, Harv, if you're going to be killing someone, remember why you're doing it. I've lived this long by NOT wanting to kill someone. I don't have much that I'd kill for. I'd kill for three things. Me, cuz I don't want to die, and if someone is trying to make me die, I'll do my best to make them die first. For Griz, cuz I love her and she's my whole life. Without her, no memory I have will be worth the brain I carry it in. And then there's Pockets, who is such a pack of trouble sometimes I wonder if he's worth it. But then again, I know he is, he's just kinda hard to take sometimes. He's like... he's like the kid brother I never had." Harv gave a questioning look. "Pockets is the guy that invented the fridge ration... the ice making thing." Harv nodded in final understanding.
"That's the only thing worth killing for. Love, and the connection that goes with it. The very same thing it's worth dying for. So while you have your head all wrapped around killing, wrap your head around what it is that's really worth dying for. Everything else is replaceable. Everything."
"But," Harv protested, "what about protecting your things? Keeping someone else from taking what you've worked for?"
"Ah! That's a different thing, though." explained Bags. "Protecting something is not the same as being ready to die for it. In protecting something, you have to know when to lay down your toys and walk away, because as hard as you protect something, sometimes it's more intelligent to just leave it be, go on with you life, and live it. Find something else to protect. Things are sometimes worth protecting, but rarely are things worth dying for. Knowing the difference is what's kept me, Griz and Pockets alive"
"I think I understand." said Harv. "Things are just that. Things. Things can be replaced. That I understand. But how bout this. What if you want your things back after you've walked away?"
"What would you do?" asked Bags. "Once again, are you willing to die to get them back? That's the real question, sonny. What you're willing to die for, because no matter how good you think you are, there is always going to be someone just a bit faster, a bit stronger, a bit better, who is more willing to die than you are."
Harv looked downtrodden, as if one of his fantasies had just been shattered. Perhaps it had. Bags saw the look on the boy's face and sat next to him. He clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder.
"You're still young, Harv, and I'm here to tell you that there will probably be more than one opportunity for you to find out what's worth living for, and what's worth dying for. You've got some good moves on you, yourself, and some of them remind me of me when I was your age. Hell, when I was your age, I was getting tossed out of some pub or cathouse at least once a week. That's where I learned my lesson. That's where I spect you'll learn yours, cuz I seriously doubt you'll pay much attention to anything an old fart like me will tell you."
Harv blushed deeply. "Cathouses? You mean brothels? Well.. we have one here, but it's not very.... um... good."
Bags raised one of his bushy eyebrows and said, "Not very good? How in the seven hells can a cathouse not be very good.. or even just merely good. At the very least the worst I've ever been in has been tolerable, but I'd never rate one as not being very good. This I gotta see."
It was Harv's turn to raise an eyebrow, and Bags' turn to blush.
"Oh, I'd be going there with Grizelda." Harv's other eyebrow went up.
"Now get that out of your head. We wouldn't be going for that, youngster. It's just that when it comes to cathouses, Griz knows her stuff. That's where we met, in a cathouse in a town a long ways from here. I was getting tossed out of it, and she... well.. don't you be telling her I told you this, but she was one of the girls. I didn't know she was sweet on me, what with me being as ugly as I am, but when I got tossed out, I was pretty beat up. She picked me out of the gutter, cleaned me up, got me healthy again. I owe her my life in ways I could never repay. Pockets, too, I reckon.
"Tell me about Pockets." Harv asked.
Bags leaned back against the wall. "Pockets is... well, he's kinda hard to describe. He and me have been together since kids. Raised in the same orphanage, y'see. Friends since then, me protecting him, and him figuring ways out of one scrape or another. He's not a fighter, he's a thinker."
Bags smiled in remembrance of days long gone. "Yeah. He's got a mind on him, always thinking of some strange thought or another. Where he comes up with some of his ideas I'll never know. He's got his own sense of reality, that's for sure. But I'll tell you this, there's not another man on the planet that I'd trust more at my back." Bags expression turned cloudy.
"What's wrong?" asked Harv.
"Funny thing. I was thinking bout Pockets, and I just got the chills. Somewhere in the back of my head I coulda swore I heard him say 'Run Away'." He looked at Harv with a sharp gaze. "I think he may be in trouble. Again."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 02:36 pm (UTC)*sigh*
Off to the sewing room.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 04:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 05:32 pm (UTC)But I can *see* the characters, settings and situations and that is always my guide to determining good stories.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 05:48 pm (UTC)As for them being done, like I told my chum Tim, once you create a world, that world goes on and on. To pull a story from it, you just have to open the door to it. Naw.. Pockets will be getting in trouble for just bout ever, and Bags and Griz will be there to get him out of it.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 04:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 04:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-03 06:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-04 07:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-04 01:48 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-02-04 04:14 pm (UTC)